


time take us

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Angst, Chronic Pain, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Catra (She-Ra), Whump, adora has chronic pain and being she ra makes it worse the fic, bow is in this a little but not enough to tag, can be read as glitradora if you like, childhood abuse not shown but adora is a traumatized gal and it shows, this is basically just adora whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Being She-ra was power and freedom, but in the wake of her … When Adora crashed back into her own body, made home with all the hurt, all the pain that being Adora meant … Well, it made her angry. She’d never considered before, before all this, that maybe things wereunfair. That word had never been part of her personal vocabulary. Things were the way they were, and you dealt with it, and that was that. No use fussing. No use asking what could have been, might have been, if things were different. Ifyouwere different.She’d been a child, and then a soldier, and she’d never considered that maybe hurting all the time wasn’t normal. Because of course she did. With the things the Horde put them through? Adora didn’t know enough about the world to think anything of it.Adora chronic pain AU
Relationships: Adora & Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 604





	time take us

**Author's Note:**

> when you're totally alone and having a really bad flare on your birthday ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry adora 
> 
> thank you to agentcalliope for the beta!!! 
> 
> trigger warnings:  
> -shadow weaver is in the first scene, so, you know, all the basic triggers that come with that  
> -psychological aftermath of trauma but no explicit abuse is shown (pretty canon-typical stuff)  
> -alcohol in the first and last scenes

Adora hadn’t known a day without pain since she was seven years old.

She remembered the day specifically. The Horde didn’t really do birthdays, but each of the cadets had a day on the calendar—the first of any given month—where their age changed over in the official forms. It wasn’t a big deal. Often, the cadets didn’t even know the specific date until they bribed it out of a higher-ranking officer. Adora had never tried to. She was, above all things, an obedient child. She saw what happened when you weren’t.

She didn’t know her official change over date, and didn’t care to, so she wasn’t sure why Shadow Weaver had pulled her from training that day. Year seven was, looking back, their last good year. The children’s bodies were still growing and awkward, and they were still, very much, young. Year seven was the last year Adora was a _child_. After that, she was a soldier.

She hadn’t known that at the time, though.

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver had said, pouring some crimson liquid into a glass, “how are you doing in training?”

“Good,” Adora had replied, trembling in the doorway. Part of it was that this hour was training time, and her body was used to running and jumping and hitting, not standing in the door to what she could only assume was Shadow Weaver’s bedroom. The other part of it was that … Shadow Weaver had pulled her out of class specifically. Even with her young and naive brain, she’d known that couldn’t be a good thing. “I’m- I’m doing good. Ma’am.”

“Excelling above your peers?”

Adora stared at the mask for a long time, her tongue caught fast between her teeth. She didn’t know the right answer to that. She _hated_ when she didn’t know the right answer. Right answers meant safety, sometimes even praise. Right answers meant Shadow Weaver wasn’t angry at her for reasons Adora couldn’t understand.

Her fingers shook. She curled them into fists.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Shadow Weaver said simply. She swirled the red liquid, holding it up to her mask. Adora was fascinated and terrified as to whether she’d take it off to drink.

She moved to a table on one side of the room, sitting in one of the chairs. Adora didn’t move until the other chair scraped backwards.

Dutifully, she crossed the room, legs like jelly, and clambered into it.

“Do you know what this is?” Shadow Weaver asked, motioning to the game board with the little pieces sitting in the center of the table.

Adora’s brows furrowed. “Am I going to training today?”

“Not today. Answer the question, Adora.”

Her hands gripped the thin fabric of her pants.

“A strategy game. Chess. We had our first lesson yesterday.”

“Good. So, you know how to play.”

Shadow Weaver moved her first piece.

It was, perhaps, the most terrified Adora had ever been. When they learned new things in training, usually she was _excited_ , even when she got thrown around and got hurt. She could deal with getting hurt. This was foreign to her: sitting in the private bunks of a high-ranking officer, watching as she tipped her mask up just enough to sip the dark liquid from cracked, grey lips.

She didn’t know what would happen if she lost. They’d barely begun explaining the game—she was sure, in her heart of hearts, that Shadow Weaver would have mastered it. But Adora, in her seven years of life, had never backed down from anything. She didn’t know, truly, what would happen if she did.

Adora moved a piece.

It became, after some time, rather enjoyable. The game was so new, and had so many rules. Adora liked that about it. All the rules. Rules meant she could memorize, strategize—rules meant right answers. And sometimes, she would slide a piece across the checkered board, look up at the mask, and Shadow Weaver would make a noise Adora might have considered … fond.

Shadow Weaver set her glass down again, almost empty now, and Adora eyed it. She’d had water, she’d had vitamin drinks, but Adora, seven years of untempered curiosity within her, wanted to know what was in that glass.

Of course, Shadow Weaver caught her looking. Instead of taking the last sip, she reached out and sat the clear glass in front of Adora.

Adora stared for a while without picking it up. It was entirely possible this was a trap, like the chess game. It was possible this would have consequences. But all was unreadable behind the ceramic. Adora’s chubby fingers closed around the stem.

She sniffed before she put it in her mouth, because you always sniffed before eating or drinking something new. The stench made her eyes water. She glanced up, but Shadow Weaver was silent.

Adora tipped the glass upside-down and poured the liquid between her lips.

It was … Well, it wasn’t like anything Adora had tasted before. Not that she’d tasted much. Ration bars, vitamin drinks, they didn’t have a lot of what Adora would come to know as ‘flavor’. The liquid was … It burned, in a way Adora didn’t know liquid could. She wondered, for a horrified second, if this was poison.

She spat the liquid back into the glass, gagging.

Shadow Weaver chuckled. “You’ll come to like that, one day. When you become Force Captain, I’ll let you try it again.”

Adora coughed, the sound echoing around the glass cup. She sat the glass back on the table, reaching up to wipe away pricked tears with her palm. “Okay.”

They finished their game, and Adora lost, and there were no consequences. That was the day Adora learned that with Shadow Weaver, there weren’t _always_ consequences. Not for her. That … Well, that terrified her, because the break in the pattern made her nervous, made her wonder if _this_ was the time, if _this_ was the time Shadow Weaver would dole justice, or if it would be the next time, or the next. Eventually, Adora would learn this new pattern, as she learned everything else. She also learned that the foul liquid was called _wine_ , and that she was not old enough to drink it.

Adora didn’t train for the rest of that day. She went to bed without a single ache, a cut, a bruise, and the next morning, Catra woke her up with a nuzzle against her cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday.”

Adora would come to think of that day as the last of her childhood. The next time she woke up, the system considered her a soldier, and it bruised and battered her like one. The thing was, Adora was _good_ at being a soldier. When she took a beating, her mind was only focused on how she’d do it differently next time. When she crawled through her days, body sore, joints swollen, muscles aching … well. That was part of life.

It had always been a part of her life.

For months, now, Adora had been a hero. She’d been a _good guy_ —She-ra, the leader of the rebellion. She didn’t feel like it, a lot of the time. This was her duty. She was just being a good little soldier. She’d never been anything but.

“Adora!” Glimmer yelled, half a squeal. “You were _so cool_ in that fight! I really thought those bots had you for a second, but you just—” She made some effect with her mouth, arching her joined arms in a vicious swing. “I thought you were out, but then, _blam!_ Down they go. _Ugh_ , that was so cool. I wish I had a big sword.”

“You can teleport. That’s way more useful than a sword.” Adora had to look down at her, even more than usual, still the tall and mighty She-ra.

“Ugh, yeah, I guess. But it’s not as good for beating the snot out of people.”

Adora risked another glance at Bow, who was watching her with a careful eye.

“Plus,” Adora continued, struggling to ignore him, “your magic is getting stronger.”

“I wonder if I could, like—” Glimmer let magic crackle at her fingertips. “-make a cool energy sword or something.”

Adora hummed. She glanced down at Bow again.

They finally made their way back to the common room at Bright Moon, and Adora still hadn’t changed back. She didn’t know if that was what Bow was suspicious of, but she could feel the exertion of it beading sweat under her collar.

“Bow,” Glimmer said, finally catching on as she threw herself onto a couch, “you’ve been awfully quiet.”

He nodded, brows furrowing as he continued to stare.

“It’s just …” He shifted minutely. “You _did_ take a lot of hits. But you’re not, like … bruised or anything? Are you sure you’re okay? It seemed rocky there for a little while.”

“ _Psssssshhhhh_.” Adora waved a hand, hiccupping a nervous laugh. “It’s _fine_ , it’s totally- You know She-ra! Healing powers out the- uh- Out the- I’m _totally_ fine. Totally. It’s all good. I think I will just, um, go take a nap or something, though.”

“A nap,” Bow stated dryly.

“Yeah, you know.” She put a hand to her shoulder as she moved her arm in circles, as if proving the motion was still available to her. “Just cause I’m- I’m just a little tired. And we should probably discuss strategy later, and I want to be, like, a hundred percent good to go, clearheaded, uh, focused. All that! So. Just going to … rest up a bit. In my room. Alone. And I’ll see you later!”

They both stared at her. Adora flashed a thumbs-up and a shaky grin before high-tailing it out of the room.

Her She-ra form almost disappeared a few times before she got there. It was a flickering thing, but she managed to hold it until she got back to her room, slammed the doors, and collapsed back against them.

The room suddenly got bigger. Or, rather, Adora got smaller.

She sucked a sharp breath through her teeth.

Because, well, Bow was right. She _had_ taken a lot of hits. She’d been blasted, thrown, punched, kicked, and while she was She-ra, she could handle that. She could handle it while she was Adora, too, it was just that … well, she felt all of it, then. Not only the aftermath of the battle, but the years of abuse she and others had inflicted on her body. All the deep aches that never went away, the sharp protests when she moved wrong. It was just … until she had become She-ra, she didn’t _know_ any different. That’s just how her body was.

And then She-ra came …

She-ra was a blessing and a curse, in her own way. She meant Adora could weather through the toughest of battles, take every hit in the world, and she could still stand up and keep fighting. She-ra meant Adora understood, finally, for the first time since she was a child, what it was like not to _hurt_. She still, under the weight of a blow, the rip of claws, understood pain. She-ra still felt pain. But she didn’t _hurt_ , not all over, not all the time, not like Adora did.

It was always worse, afterwards. Adora _loved_ the feeling of being She-ra, craved the easy glide of muscles, the stature, the power behind her swings. She-ra was Adora’s destiny. Her place and meaning in a world that didn’t always make sense. But, She-ra, by her nature, took a lot of hits. And, by her nature, she didn’t suffer the consequences of that.

Adora did.

She struggled to pull in a breath as the pain came to her, nudging into her body little by little. She _was_ healed—She-ra gave her that, at least. The injuries themselves had gone away. But that blow she’d taken to her ribs, hours earlier—the break was gone, she knew; if she checked, there wouldn’t even be a bruise. But it _hurt_ , it hurt like anything when Adora sucked in a breath. Her ankle, which she’d twisted in a fall, gave a sharp jab of protest as she continued to lean back against the door. Her shoulders burned and ached from swinging the sword with as much force as she’d been able to muster. And all the old stuff, too, the ever-present ghosts of battles past … A weak joint here, a muscle that had never fully healed there … An ache, a pain, a burn, a tremor … These were things Adora never let go of. Not unless she was She-ra.

Being She-ra was power and freedom, but in the wake of her … When Adora crashed back into her own body, made home with all the hurt, all the pain that being Adora meant … Well, it made her angry. She’d never considered before, before all this, that maybe things were _unfair_. That word had never been part of her personal vocabulary. Things were the way they were, and you dealt with it, and that was that. No use fussing. No use asking what could have been, might have been, if things were different. If _you_ were different.

She’d been a child, and then a soldier, and she’d never considered that maybe hurting all the time wasn’t normal. Because of course she did. The things the Horde put them through, that Adora jumped into time and time again—too much training, then extra on top, not enough time on the mat so Adora signed up for _more_ , more fights, no _again, better this time_ , run faster, run _harder_ , it doesn’t matter that you can’t stand up, get back out there and show that you’re a real soldier, it doesn’t matter you’re hurting, it doesn’t matter you’re broken, _get back up and go again_.

Well.

Adora didn’t know enough about the world to think anything of it.

_Am I going to training today?_

_Not today._

_Shadow Weaver moved her first piece_.

Adora took a breath—a labored, shaking breath—and took her first step.

It hurt, but not as bad as the second one did. The second step knew there was pain coming, and it made her body tense in anticipation. She quickly stumbled through a few more, halfway to her bed now. Her legs felt like jelly. They almost buckled, but she stayed upright through willpower alone.

She took a deep breath, wincing as it expanded against her ribs. For all these battles hurt her, for every punch, for every scratch of claws, it had nothing on the aftermath. At least during the battle, she had adrenaline. She had _purpose_. This was just … A personal battle between her, her body, and the physical distance until her bed.

Her teeth clenched as her legs wavered beneath her. She pulled out her sword, putting the tip to the ground, and leaned her weight on it. Her arms trembled, but the sword supported her enough to take the last few steps—tense and awkward, with more than a bit of a limp in her gait. Her back strained as she turned around and gingerly sunk onto the mattress. The sword clattered to the floor. It felt like her muscles were being pulled so taught they might snap. It felt like she’d swallowed glass and now it was just traveling around her body, stuck fast in each of her joints.

It took a full minute for her to lie down. She sunk down to her back first, the easiest transition, and then, after taking a while to breathe, managed to move to her side. It aggravated her ribs, and her hip on that side, but she knew if she stayed on her back, she’d get stuck like that.

It was one of those things where you don’t realize you’re crying until there’s someone else there to see it. Like you’re not really aware of yourself until there’s a witness. Adora had moved into a ball, her legs curled differently, her shoulders held stiff, just shaking with the pain as tears streaked across the bridge of her nose and soaked into her pillow.

It was … It was what she did. After She-ra, it was worse, it was always worse, and this battle had been hard. But this was what Adora did.

So she didn’t fully suspect how Glimmer would react, because to Adora, it was just normal. She’d get back from the battle, she’d excuse herself, hobble to her room, and she’d lay on her bed and cry until she felt like enough of a functioning person to go out into the castle again. Part of her knew it wasn’t okay, and that was the part that kept these moments hidden. She knew she couldn’t tell them.

She just wasn’t expecting Glimmer to teleport into her room.

She tensed even further, if that was possible, when she heard the noise. She didn’t open her eyes, but it hit her, just then, how completely broken she must have looked. She knew how awkward her position was—Catra had always teased her about it even as she fetched ice and bandages and stroked her hair. And it was only then she felt the tears on her own face, heard how ragged her breathing was.

Glimmer didn’t speak for a long time.

Finally, Adora cracked open her eyes, blinking away the blur only to be met with a shocked and terrified expression.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, automatically.

“Adora …” Glimmer’s arms hugged around her middle. “What is …?”

“I’m—” She took a breath, trying not to cry harder. Part of the reason she secluded herself during times like these was because, under careful hands, under caring gaze … She’d just break. She would just break. “I’m okay.”

“No,” Glimmer said. “You’re not.”

Adora’s eyes screwed shut.

“Are you … Are you injured?”

Adora coughed out a laugh, then hissed in a breath when that hurt her ribs.

“What am I saying?” Glimmer continued. “Of course you are, look at you.”

“I’m not,” Adora quickly mumbled. “This is … This is normal. It’s fine.”

“Normal?”

Glimmer sounded … well concerned, definitely. But also angrier than Adora was expecting.

“How long has this been going on?”

Adora didn’t know the right answer to that. If she’d been back in the Horde, she’d have thought it was a trap. As it was, she … Well, it still sounded like a trap. She’d give the wrong answer, no matter what answer she gave, and Glimmer would be angry, and … and what? They’d kick her out? They wouldn’t let her be She-ra anymore?

Adora hated not knowing the right answer.

So, she didn’t answer at all.

“Are you mad?” she asked, and it sounded suspiciously on the verge of a sob, even to her own ears. Her throat was so thick, her face so hot, and her chest was clenched even harder than the rest of her body.

“Mad?”

Adora could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears so loudly that she almost missed the quiet voice.

The bed dipped, and Adora’s breath caught at the sudden motion.

A hand found its way to rest on her hip. The touch was light, but warm. It didn’t hurt, not like everything else did.

“Adora, why would I be mad?”

That was too much. The quiet concern, the warm, steady hand. It sounded, at least to Adora, that Glimmer genuinely didn’t know. Adora was hurting, she was crying, she was being a _bad soldier_ , and Glimmer still, despite that, didn’t seem to understand.

Her body jumped in a sob. She couldn’t even help it. When the movement sent a flare of pain from her shoulders down to her toes, her throat tightened around the sound and choked it into something strangled.

“Adora, please,” she said, and, _fuck_ , now she’d made Glimmer cry too, “tell me how to help.”

Adora shook her head, lips pursed and trembling as the tears continued to come.

“You can’t,” she said, voice wet. “You can’t, there’s … there’s nothing, it’s just like this, _I’m_ just like this. There’s nothing you can _do_ , I just … It gets worse, it gets better, but it never goes away. It’s just—” Adora could feel herself unraveling. Her world had shrunk down to pain, and her lighthouse—the warm hand on her hip. She took a breath, forcing herself to calm. She was no good to anyone like this. “It’s just something I have to live with,” she said. Even she could hear how flat and stilted the words had come.

“No,” Glimmer said. Her grip tightened, only slightly.

Adora blinked her eyes open. Glimmer’s face was pinched, eyebrows drawn even as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips were pulled in something like a snarl, a grimace.

“No, we’ll … We’ll bring you to the healers. We’ll get you medicine, we’ll- There has to be _something_. You can’t just live like this, Adora.”

Adora swallowed. “Glimmer, it’s … it’s fine.”

“No! It’s not fine! Why didn’t you …” Her mouth closed and then parted. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Adora didn’t respond. She only knew the wrong answers.

Glimmer nodded, as if to herself, and looked away. Her other hand reached up to wipe at her cheeks.

“We’ll bring you to the healer after you rest,” she said softly. “Is there anything I can do right now?”

Adora bit her tongue against the request.

“Please,” Glimmer whispered, “please believe that if there is anything, even something small, I want you to tell me.”

The whispered _promise?_ almost escaped her lips, but it didn’t.

“When I was—” Her throat tightened. “Used to- When- Ca- Sh-She would, um, stroke my hair.”

“Okay.” Glimmer watched her, face careful. “Okay.”

She moved slowly, so Adora had time to brace for it. She switched so she was sitting against the headboard, hip by Adora’s head.

“Can I take your ponytail out?”

Adora hummed her consent.

Her eyes closed as Glimmer’s short fingers removed the band. It tugged her skull a bit, but compared to everything else, it wasn’t unpleasant.

Something in Adora’s chest unknotted when Glimmer’s hand started running through her hair. It was … It was different. It definitely felt different. Her fingers were short and almost stubby, and she didn’t have the nails. But Adora could … She could imagine. It wasn’t the same, but she could imagine.

She sighed, letting herself relax a little.

Glimmer was obviously being careful. She didn’t seem to want to move too fast, touch too forcefully. Adora, despite her current position, wasn’t _breakable_. But, in its own way … Well, she’d never really had anyone be _gentle_ with her before.

It was something to get used to.

After a little while of Glimmer’s fingers combing through her hair, nails lightly dragging against her scalp, she spoke.

“We’ll take you to the healers,” she mumbled, so quiet it almost wasn’t there. “And if they can’t figure it out, we’ll take you to Mystacor, to my aunt. Someone can help. We’ll find something.”

“Okay,” Adora mumbled back. She didn’t want to say she wouldn’t hope, because it seemed that’s what Glimmer needed to do. But getting any sort of help seemed … to good to be true. Help was its own sort of trap. If someone helped you, it was because you were weak, and they knew it. She knew, on some level, that that wasn’t true. But, still, it’s what she believed. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was okay when other people were weak. But Adora wasn’t allowed to be. Even this—crying into her pillow, Glimmer’s hand in her hair—she’d find a way to make up for it.

Everything was its own sort of game. It took strategy. But for every time Adora _got_ , she knew she had to give and give and _give_ in return.

Adora laid on her cot and cried.

“Why are you crying?”

She jumped, but was quickly relieved when she registered it was Catra.

“I’m not,” she said. She wiped her cheeks. “Shut up.”

Catra’s large, mismatched eyes stared back at her. Her ears flattened.

“Did Lonnie do this? I _swear_ , one day I’m going to claw her face off.”

“No! No, Catra, I’m fine.”

“You’re … not.” Catra crouched, resting her arms on the edge of the bed. “Was it …” Little goosebumps rose on her arms, and she looked away. “Was it Shadow Weaver?”

Adora swallowed. “It wasn’t anyone. I promise.”

Catra’s nose curled, then she blinked her thoughts away and looked back.

“Then why are you crying?”

Adora curled a little smaller.

“It just … hurts. Does that ever happen to you?”

Her eyebrows dragged together. “I guess.”

“I’m fine. I just need to sleep, I think.”

“Okay.”

Adora blinked through her tears, staring back at Catra.

“Are you …” She sniffled, slowly reaching up to wipe her nose. “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?”

“No,” Catra said, quickly, defensively. Her face flushed, and she moved to sit on the bed next to Adora’s head. Her hand fell with trepidation to rest on her hair.

Adora sighed and curled closer.

Her eyes were closed, but she felt when Catra slid the band out of her hair. Her fingers started stroking, nails out just enough to scrape, through the strands.

Adora hummed, and the hand stopped.

“Don’t stop,” Adora mumbled sleepily. She scooted as much as her aching body would allow, resting her forehead against Catra’s hip. “Feels good.”

“Okay,” Catra whispered.

The fingers continued to stroke. Adora ached, but there, in that moment, it wasn’t so bad.

“What do you _mean_ you can’t fix it?”

Even from the other room, Adora could hear the anger in Glimmer’s voice.

Then Bow, quieter.

“Glimmer …”

“There has to be _something_ you can do! You can’t just … There has to be medicine, or a spell, or- or- What do we have you for if you can’t help her?”

“Princess …”

The healer’s voice was mostly muffled through the wall.

“Don’t _princess_ me. I don’t care what you have to do, just find something!”

The door cracked against the wall as Glimmer stormed through, then through the sitting room and out the other door.

Bow exited shortly after. Adora heard him take a breath.

Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, head angled toward her lap. She didn’t look up as he came and crouched at her side.

“Hey,” he started, quiet.

“Yeah,” Adora said, before he could speak further. She could hear through the wall, he didn’t need to say it. “It’s okay.”

He squeezed her leg. “We’ll keep looking. We’ll go to Mystacor. Something will turn up, okay?”

Adora plastered on a watery smile. Finally, she looked at him, chin trembling.

“It won’t.”

She stood, and left.

Adora stayed as still as she could, curled into a ball on the bed. Catra was warm against her back, arm perfectly laid on top of her own.

Footsteps echoed down the hall towards the barracks, but Adora couldn’t find it within herself to care.

The footsteps stopped in the door. Catra’s chest rumbled with a growl.

“Cadets,” came Octavia’s voice, harsh and unforgiving. “You’re supposed to be in training.”

“We’re not going today,” Catra snapped, moving slightly to glare over Adora’s shoulder.

There was a brief silence, but Adora didn’t open her eyes. Her brain was too foggy, mind lost to the pain. She knew she should get up, shuffle to training and deal with it like she always did, but her head couldn’t even figure putting one foot in front of the other.

“No one gets out of training. Get up now and the consequences will be tolerable.”

“She’s sick,” Catra said, though that was a lie.

“She doesn’t look sick.”

A footstep, then the sound of an angry hiss.

“Take another step,” Catra said slowly, “and I get your other eye, too.”

Octavia was silent. Catra’s hand tightened around Adora’s wrist.

The sound of spitting, then something wet hitting the floor.

“Shadow Weaver is going to hear about this,” Octavia growled. “And you’re not going to feel so brave when she does.”

Catra hissed again, but Adora soon felt the other presence leave the room.

“Catra …” she mumbled. Her brows furrowed, and she shifted. Her body ached, her forehead dabbed with sweat. She tried to sit up, but it was like she’d forgotten how. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

Slowly, Catra relaxed from her defensive position and molded herself once again to Adora’s back.

“It’s okay.”

“’S not.”

She shushed her, nosing the back of her neck.

“It’s alright. Just go to sleep.”

She didn’t sleep. She didn’t think she could, maybe ever again. But her eyes were so heavy, and so were her limbs, her torso, her head. Her eyes stayed shut, and she didn’t know how much time passed. Her brain was lost to the fog, and maybe tomorrow, that would worry her. For now, she rested, and took comfort in the warmth against her back.

Adora didn’t know how long she sat at the table, hands gripping her own elbows, watching the darkened, starry sky through the window. It was very odd, sitting this still while she was She-ra. She’d never just sat in her room in this form. Her legs kept bumping the underside of the table, and the proportions of everything in her room was off. It was disconcerting. That was all she could really think about, all her mind would focus on. Somewhere far away, deep, deep within her mind … alarms of panic—clamoring and harsh. But, on the surface, her only accessible thoughts as she held herself and stared out the window: just that—just how very, very odd things seemed.

She might’ve been waiting a while for Catra to return, but at some point, she’d lost track of time. It surprised her when the door opened and closed, but not enough to jump, or do anything besides continue to stare.

“Okay, so it’s not the _best_ stuff,” Catra said, nails clacking on the floor, “but Bright Moon has the weirdest alcohol I’ve ever seen. I sniffed all of them—half of them honestly seemed like they might be poison. Made my eyes water. This castle really doesn’t fuck around.”

She approached the table, setting down the bottle as well as two stemmed glasses. Adora’s gaze shifted to them. If anything, they made her mind retreat even further away.

“Sorry, I know you hate wine.” Her tail lashed once. Her voice softened. “Do you still hate wine?”

Adora’s lips parted. She should say something, but she couldn’t find it within herself.

Catra’s foot tapped the inside of one of Adora’s boots—gold and firm white leather.

“What’s with this?” Catra asked. “Why haven’t you changed back?”

“I—” Adora’s throat constricted.

Catra dropped into a crouch, brows furrowing.

“Hey.” She reached up, wiping at Adora’s cheek with her thumb. Adora hadn’t realized she’d begun to cry until the digit pulled back wet. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t change back,” Adora said quickly, before the tears stole her words.

“Are you, like …” Her nose crinkled, mouth parting just enough to show sharp canines. “Are you stuck? Does that happen?”

“No, I mean—” She closed her eyes, quickly wiping her face in frustration. “I’ve just- I’ve been She-ra _all day_ , like since early this morning, and- and we didn’t fight all that much, but I haven’t really been She-ra for this long and it- it’s always so much worse after, so I don’t know- I don’t—”

She bit the inside of her lip.

She heard Catra swallow. “I don’t … I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Adora’s breath shook out of her nose. Of course, Catra wouldn’t. They’d been separated so long, of course she wouldn’t.

She still didn’t open her eyes.

“You know how, when we were kids, I’d have these- these days, where just …” Her hands finally unlatched from her elbows, rising to shake in a gesture that was unclear to even her. “Where I just hurt, and- Where it was just _so much_ , and I—” She stopped, throat tightening.

“Yeah,” Catra said softly.

“Well, being She-ra—” She stopped for a moment, mouth opening and closing. Her words were so strained and wet that she struggled to say them. “-being She-ra makes it worse, so much worse. Not when I’m her, not when I’m like this, but … but when I go back, it’s worse.”

After a while she was forced to open her eyes, because Catra hadn’t said anything. She blinked away the blur, though it caused more tears to fall down her cheeks.

Catra looked … She was getting better at reading her expressions. Catra was still Catra, the girl she’d spent every day of her whole life with until … She had changed, some. Enough that Adora noticed. There were things about her that were different, even if it was just that her face had matured in their time apart.

This expression wasn’t hard to read. It was new, but plain to see.

Guilt, hardened by anger.

“Hey,” Adora mumbled, reaching out to cup her cheek. She stroked with her thumb, and Catra’s pupils slid to her. “Don’t do that.”

Catra stared for a moment. Then, she took a breath in and let it out slow. She nodded.

“You’ve been She-ra all day,” she mumbled, reaching up to lay her hand over Adora’s. “So, it’s going to be really bad.”

Adora’s hand trembled. She nodded.

“And you don’t want to change back. But the longer you go, the worse it’s going to be.”

Her face dimpled as she tried not to cry more. “Is that stupid?”

“It’s not.” She closed her eyes, pressing harder against Adora’s palm. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Um.” She swallowed, brows pinching. “I have a- uh- a vial, on my desk. The orangey liquid, with the flowers. It’s medicine.”

Catra nodded as she blinked her eyes open. “Got it.”

Then she was gone, rushing to scoop the glass vial off the desk. She paused briefly as she made her way back, eyes locked on it.

“I always thought this was perfume,” she admitted.

Adora huffed a wet laugh. “Yeah, because I wear perfume.”

One side of Catra’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I thought it was someone’s version of a strongly-worded hint.”

A grin, however watery, broke out on her face.

“Are you saying I smell?”

This was one thing that hadn’t changed. It tamped down the flare of anxiety in Adora’s chest.

“What? No.” Catra continued on her path back, lips twitching. “You smell like Adora.”

“And what does Adora smell like?” she asked, tears finally stopping.

Catra bit her lips, chest jumping in a silent laugh. “Very sweaty.”

A bubble of laughter tore from Adora’s throat, and she wiped her face dry.

“So, this helps?” Catra asked, looking at the liquid and the swirling flowers again before handing it over. “Do you, like, drink it?”

“It … helps some,” Adora admitted softly. “It’s not perfect. It took a long time to even make it this useful.”

Catra’s ears flattened. It seemed she’d understood where exactly they’d gotten the flowers, where this particular mixture came from.

Adora looked down, unscrewing the top.

Catra shook herself. “What does it taste like?”

Adora snorted. “Bad. It’s- It’s really not good.”

“What else, um- What else do we do?”

_We_.

Adora’s chest warmed, even as fresh anxiety started pouring into it. Her hands stilled, one holding the vial and the other holding the cap.

“Um.” She tipped the vial up to her lips and poured a hefty portion of the contents through. She screwed her eyes shut as she struggled to swallow past the burning taste. “Glimmer.” She coughed as she swallowed. “Glimmer has a spell that helps.”

Catra nodded, eyebrows drawing. “I’ll get her. Anything else?”

The aftertaste of the liquid lingered in her mouth, and she took open-mouthed breaths as she struggled not to gag. She swallowed again, this time only the build up of saliva that had flooded her mouth. “Will you stay? Just to- to hold me up. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sit up on my own.”

Catra’s expression pinched. She crouched again, reaching to take Adora’s hand.

“Hey,” she murmured, stroking her thumb over Adora’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Adora bit her cheek, nodding quickly. She hated that tears had started to prick at her eyes again. “Okay.”

Catra watched her for a moment longer, then pressed a kiss against her fingers.

“I’ll be right back.”

Adora was suddenly alone in the room. Her chest was buzzing, her fingers shaking. She took a breath and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.

No matter what Catra said, she felt stupid being so afraid of this. It was only pain. Most of Adora’s life had been nothing but. But she’d been doing better lately, between her small doses of medication, and occasional sessions with Glimmer … And she’d been She-ra all day. She forgot, sometimes, how amazingly good it was to just feel … fine.

She bit down on her tongue, eyes screwing shut.

She could handle it. It would be fine. And, unlike the Horde, her bad days didn’t come with repercussions. When she missed a day of training, the next one would be harder. When Catra skipped with her, she’d disappear shortly after, always coming back shaky and with a wild look in her eye. That had always made Adora angry. Not the training—that, she could deal with. But Shadow Weaver had rarely held Adora’s bad days against her; she’d always, always, found a reason to take it out on Catra.

Growing up, Adora had always thought she was the one protecting Catra. She didn’t realize until much later that it had been the other way around.

She heard the telltale sound of Glimmer teleporting into the room, then Catra’s groan as she slumped to the floor.

“Adora, I’m _so_ sorry!” Glimmer said, quickly moving around the bed and towards Adora’s chair. “I didn’t even- I really should’ve thought this was going to happen, I should’ve checked, I’m so sorry.”

Adora turned to look at her, then stopped. She took in Glimmer’s wavering stance, the flush across her cheeks.

“You’re drunk,” she stated.

“No!”

A hiccup jumped her shoulders. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth.

“I’m- I can still do magic.”

“Glimmer …” Adora laughed, quiet, and shook her head. “It’s … I’m fine. You can go back to whatever you were doing, I’m sorry we pulled you away.”

“What?” Glimmer’s face screwed in anger. “No! I- This was totally my fault. I knew how long you were on that mission. I really should’ve seen this coming, I just … It’s been a long day. I wasn’t even thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you two lovebirds done apologizing, or are we going to keep putting this off?” Catra drawled, aiming for casual and miserably failing. She was snapping her fingers as her arms moved in half-arcs, absolutely buzzing with nerves.

Adora gave a short sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Glimmer shot her a thumbs up. “Absolutely. Hundred percent. Totally good to go.” She wavered, almost imperceptibly.

Catra’s eyes rolled. She took a step forward. “If you _are_ too drunk,” she started in a low purr, “and you _do_ mess this up …”

She sauntered the rest of the way to Glimmer’s side, leaned close to her ear, and began to whisper.

Glimmer blanched.

“Uh huh,” she said, voice high. “Yep. I- No, yeah, yeah, of course. I totally- Oh, you’re still going. Okay. That’s- Wow, descriptive. Yes, I understand. Mhmm. Yes, completely.”

Catra pulled away, smirking.

Glimmer huffed out a nervous laugh, turning to look at her. “And you know,” she said, clearing her throat, “that if I messed this up, or hurt Adora in any way, I would do all that to myself a hundred times over, right?”

Catra’s smirk grew as she trailed a sharp nail across the underside of Glimmer’s chin.

“Good.”

“ _Catra_.” Adora bit her lips, trying to reign in a smile. “I don’t know what you said, but it seemed very violent. I don’t think Perfuma would approve of that sort of talk, do you?”

Catra turned the deadly grin on Adora. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of Adora’s mouth.

“Well then we don’t have to tell her,” she rumbled, “do we?”

Adora huffed a laugh, her chest unknotting. “I suppose not.”

“Okay.” Glimmer put her hands on her hips, nodding. “Well, I’m going to get a quick glass of water.” She eyed Adora. “Two glasses. And then we’ll start. Move to the bed for me?” Then she was gone.

Catra kept her face where it was, warm against Adora’s cheek.

“Hey,” she mumbled. “You’re gonna get through this. And we’re going to be here to help, okay?”

Adora swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

They moved to the bed, and Adora stared down at it (too tall, still too tall) as Catra crawled onto the mattress. She held open her arms, and Adora sat and sunk into them.

One of Catra’s arms wrapped around her stomach, the other bracing her across the chest. Catra’s knees were on either side of her hips. Her head dipped as she pressed a kiss against Adora’s—She-ra’s—muscled back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.

Adora’s hand found Catra’s wrist and squeezed.

Glimmer popped back into the room with two glasses of water. One was half-empty, and she took another swig of it before speaking.

“Okay,” she said, holding out the other glass. “Just a little of this. Not too much. I know you’re going to be nauseous.”

Adora took it and took a few sips before handing it back.

Glimmer finished her own glass, then set both of them down on the bedside table. She took a big breath, hands on her hips.

“Okay. You ready?”

Adora did her best to hold back the tears. They flooded her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

She nodded.

“Always.”

Glimmer held out two fingers on each hand, closed her eyes, and started to drag them through the air. Glowing lines trailed from where her fingers moved, and soon a pattern began to form. When the circle and runes were complete, Glimmer clapped, once, sharply. The circle disappeared, but her hands were left glowing a soft blue.

Adora de-transformed.

The cry left her lips before she could stop it. The pain hit hard, and it hit fast. She buckled forward, only held up by Catra’s grip.

“Where first?” Glimmer said, holding up her glowing hands. When Adora didn’t respond, she dropped to her knees before her. “Hey, focus on me. Stay with us. You need to tell me what’s the worst right now.”

Adora tried to laugh at what a stupid question that was, but all that came out were a series of strained sobs. The _worst_. As if it didn’t feel like she was being stabbed all over, torn and rended apart at each and every crook in her body.

A low whine pulled from her lips. She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

“Hey.”

Glimmer’s hands came up and cupped each of her cheeks. Adora gasped at the icy cold that hit her.

“Work up or down?”

“Up,” Adora managed to say.

Glimmer nodded, quickly dropping to the floor again. Her breath pulled ragged as Glimmer’s hands wrapped around her calf.

“I’ve got you,” Catra said. Her voice was shaking almost as much as her arms were. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Adora sobbed again and gripped harshly at Catra’s arms. She felt small. So, so, desperately small. She-ra was strength, She-ra was freedom. Adora was just … this. Falling apart while other people tried to hold her together.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, barely able to recognize the words even from her own lips, twisted and gnarled as they escaped.

Catra shushed her, squeezing tighter. They were mostly the same size, now, and soon Catra’s face was pressing against the side of Adora’s cheek.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Catra whispered. Adora tensed and relaxed as Glimmer moved to her other leg. “Not ever, okay? We’ve got you.”

Adora cried out again, only held up by Catra’s arms around her. She panted as black spots started to swirl her vision.

“Glimmer?” Catra’s voice was sharp and unsure, all at once.

Glimmer’s head shot up, then the rest of her body.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she murmured, resting one icy hand on Adora’s cheek, the other against her forehead. Adora closed her eyes as it brought her back to focus. “You got this. You’re doing so good.”

Adora nodded.

The hands soon left her as Glimmer dropped back down, moving then to press each hand against Adora’s knees. Adora tried not to squirm or kick, instead letting her full weight fall backwards. Catra held her steady.

Her head lolled, then found its place with her forehead pressed against Catra’s jaw.

“Catra?”

“I’m right here.”

“Stay?”

“Not going anywhere.”

She nodded, satisfied.

She wasn’t sure how long the session lasted. It could have been an hour, maybe only minutes. She didn’t know how long she let herself be held and cared for while her body tried to rip itself apart. Sometimes she cried out, sometimes she whimpered. Mostly, she was quiet. Mostly she was good.

It took her a few seconds to realize the hands had left her, that maybe they were done. She still hurt. These sessions weren’t a miracle, no matter how much they helped. But the hurt had quieted into an all over ache that left her worn and bone-weary.

Slowly, Adora’s eyes came open. She had to blink a few times for the world to come back into focus.

Glimmer had her hands on her hips, trying to calm down her labored breathing. The exertion was evident in the damp hair that clung to the sweat on her forehead. She swallowed, hand shaking as she picked up the still-full glass.

“Can you drink a little for me?”

Adora tried to pick up her arms, but they wouldn’t move. Catra grabbed the glass and raised it to her lips.

When she was done, Glimmer took back the glass and barely managed to set it down before she landed ass-first on the floor. She raised a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she still managed to ask.

“Better,” Adora whispered. She swallowed. “Tired.”

Glimmer huffed a laugh that sounded equally as exhausted. “You’re probably going to sleep until dinner.” She took another breath, long and slow. “Better, though?”

“Better,” Adora said again. “Thank you.”

Glimmer cracked open an eye and smiled at her.

Catra carefully shifted, unlatching her arms just a little. From this close, Adora heard one of her joints pop.

“I think a very big sleep is in order,” she grumbled fondly, though there was still some tension lacing her voice. “How ‘bout we get you lying down, yeah?”

Adora hummed. She did try to move, but none of her muscles were cooperating.

Eventually, Catra managed to get her into a comfortable position, lying half-curled on her side facing the inside of the bed. Adora’s eyes slipped shut. She tried to open them when Catra’s warmth left her, mumbling a soft protest.

“Come on, Sparkles,” she heard Catra say. A groan; shifting cloth. “Up you go.”

“Okay,” Glimmer said after a moment. “As Queen, I’m officially mandating that everyone sleep until at least noon. Including myself. If anyone bothers me, they’re getting beheaded.”

A sharp chuckle.

Adora finally managed to open her eyes, turning her head just enough to peer over her shoulder.

Glimmer was standing with her hands on her hips as Catra steadied her with a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Whew,” Glimmer said, trying to smile. “Okay. Think I’m gonna walk this one.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Catra’s hand slipped down until it could tug at Glimmer’s wrist. “Come on.”

Catra peeled off her shirt and managed to kick her pants off before she slipped under the covers. Glimmer hesitated for only a moment before following. Adora smiled as much as she could, even if it was only a little tug at the corner of her lips, as they settled.

Catra laid facing her, taking Adora’s hand as Glimmer shifted and pressed her face to Catra’s shoulderblades. Fingers squeezed, and Adora managed to focus her eyes and smile.

“How are you?” Catra asked, quiet.

“Good.”

Catra’s eyebrows drew.

“Okay,” she amended. “Really tired.”

Catra nodded, pulling their hands up to press a kiss to Adora’s knuckles.

“We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Adora blinked heavily. 

She still hurt. Her body ached, and she felt so heavy she might break the bed in two. But she had a lighthouse. Catra’s fingers tangled with her own, thumb moving in little circles. And, from her other side, the already-present sound of Glimmer softly snoring.

“Okay,” Adora said.

This was, like any other day, one with pain. She hadn’t really known any different, not since she was seven years old, sitting in a chair that was too big and too hard, wondering how it was she was supposed to win at chess. A chapter of her life had ended, then. She’d had a few rocky starts since. Finding the sword. The Princess Alliance. The portal. Rescuing Catra. Ending the war.

And maybe this, maybe here.

So much of her life had known pain, and so much of it had been constricted by rules she didn’t know and questions she couldn’t answer. Words like traps and liquid with a bitter sting.

This … Well, this didn’t seem much like a game at all. In fact, the answer seemed very, very simple.

Adora held Catra’s hand, and her hand was held back in return. She knew, in her heart of hearts, it would still be there when she woke up.

Adora closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any prompts im on tumblr @ buckysbears !


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